It's A Long Way To The Top
by Erzsebeth Bathory
Summary: What was Paul's life before he became a Lost Boy? Let the vampire himself tell you! *HUMAN PAUL! PRE-DATES EVENTS FROM THE 1987 MOVIE*


**Disclaimer:**_The Lost Boys _is copyright (c) Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. and all others associated with legal rights.

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_It's A Long Way To The Top_

Chapter One

"It's All Gotta Start Somewhere!"

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"Before she and Laddie had come here, Paul had been the newest member of the gang."

- Star, Chapter Twenty-Seven, _The Lost Boys  
_

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When I drank David's blood in the 1980s, I knew damn well what I was getting myself into. It was the promise of a new life and I would be taken on crazy, surreal ride, one that I would never want to get off of.

Just like Star said, I had been the newest member of the gang at the time. A lot of folks think Marko is the youngest, but that couldn't be any farther from the truth. After David got Dwayne and Marko into the family, it was a real long time before they took me in. When I mean a long time, I mean it was at least a few decades of just the three of them together. Four if you wanna count the head vampire, Max.

But we're not here to talk about my times as a rockin' vampire who belongs to the best undead pack around. The fans already know about the Lost Boys' story in Santa Carla, California, the ol' Murder Capital of the World, so there's no reason for me to repeat what's already been seen and said about us.

Nah, I'm here because I want to talk about my life before I met up with the boys. Don't expect me to spout any kind of fancy ass poetry or use lots of big words that contain some kind of hidden meaning. I'm just going to tell it like it was: straight up, no bullshitting.

Alright, maybe a lil' bullshitting. Hey, it's MY story, so I can do whatever I want.

If you're ready to cruise back to the past with me, then welcome aboard and hang on!

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The first memory I can easily recall when I think about my past is my mom grabbing one of my Hot Wheels race car tracks and using it to whack my step-dad in the face. I was crying and hollering... NOT because of Steve getting nailed right upside the jaw, but because she tore apart my racing track. I was about to win the championship!

Fighting was the norm in my family. Mom only had one volume when she spoke: LOUD. Steve only knew how to act a few ways: manipulative and phoney. Grams looked like a sweet ol' lady, but she'd clobber you if you didn't listen to her. I was a stupid kid for constantly trying to piss HER off. Crash was mellow and I loved the guy, but most of my memories of him were of him sleeping on the couch and snoring at the most random times. Joey was the little trooper of the household, having to put up with the rest of us. If all was quiet under the same roof when all of us were home at the same time, that was a bad sign. It was the calm before the shit storm.

So yeah, this was the family I was born in, grew up with during my childhood, and was forced to leave behind when I got kicked out at sixteen.

Time to back peddle a bit.

It was the early 1960s when I came into the world, a blond haired and blue eyed kiddo. My biological dad, some top notch doctor at the time, wasn't around when I was born. He was tucked away in his office in Hollywood, busy rubbing elbows with socialites and other stuck up assholes who used money to gain friends and most importantly, status and respect. Mom had been his personal secretary with benefits, just barely in her 20s. She hadn't been working for Dad for a full year when she learned she was pregnant with me. Dad was anything but thrilled. They weren't married and they weren't even dating, but he felt obligated to help out financially – for the first few years of my life, anyhow.

By the way, Dad was in his early 40s when I was conceived. Mom sure knew how to pick 'em.

Dad named me "Paul" in honor of his kid brother who died in the Korean War. Beyond naming me after his only sibling, that was the only real attachment he had with me. I never got to learn about Uncle Paul or even see photographs of him because Dad didn't do that kind of stuff with me – you know, bonding. His excuse was that he was always "working." Dad never told anyone he had a son out of wedlock. His reputation would've been completely shot deader than dead and he would've been finished career-wise. Meanwhile, with Mom, same deal – never told anyone about her little bastard, which would be moi. It was taboo back then for a single gal to have a baby and not be married. Somehow her and Dad agreed that they would live separate lives but that he'd help out with me when he could – again, it wouldn't last long. If anybody asked about where Mom's "husband" was, she always said he worked overseas. If they asked about me, I was just a kid she was babysitting.

Mom and I lived in a tiny apartment in Santa Monica when I was real little. That's right, I was born and raised in SoCal, and for all of my life, human and vampire-wise, I stuck close to the beaches. Everything I ever wanted could be found here, so why bother going anywhere else? Even when shit came to shit later on in life, I would do whatever it took to be able to stay in Cali. You had the beautiful beaches, the ocean, the people, and the major cities like LA and Hollywood practically at your fingertips. There was always something to do here.

When I was three, Dad ditched us entirely. The meager child support payments from him came to a screeching halt, and all communications with Dad were cut off completely. We later learned that he moved his entire practice out of California and into New York somewhere. So much for Dad wanting to help out. Actually, it would be years when I would hear from him again, but you'll learn about that crap in another chapter. From there on out, Mom and I were on our own.

Mom lucked out and got a job as a waitress, then around the same time picked up another job as a house keeper in a motel. An elderly couple who lived in the unit next door to us, and who just happened to own the apartment complex, was able to watch me while my mom worked her ass off so that we could stay in the same place.

We barely got by, Mom and I, but she provided for me the best way that she could. She didn't have any family she could reach out to because she burned bridges with them a long time ago, and they didn't want anything to do with her. She didn't have any real friends, either. With all the crying and complaining and venting she did onto Grams when she came home at the crack of dawn or real late nights, she made sure I had the basic necessities: food, clothes, and shelter. I'll give the woman credit for doing what she could for me at the time.

The old folks who watched over me growing up became like a set of grandparents to me: Gram and Grandpa Crash. Crash's real name was "Clarence" but every time he settled down in his Lazy Boy Chair, he totally crashed within minutes because it was so cozy to sit in. I've taken quite a lot of naps on that chair myself and damn, you didn't want to leave! Him and Gram never had any children of their own but that didn't stop them from treating me like I was their own grandson.

Not much to say during this time of my life. I was a little squirt who liked playing with the Etch A Sketch and my G.I. Joe action figures. I loved being outside and when it wasn't raining, I was outdoors, wearing out my tennis shoes, getting my clothes dirtied, and skin roughed up with the many spills I took because I'd run too fast and slip. I hardly ever saw my mom unless it was right before I was going to bed at night or early in the AM, but I sure as hell heard her when she started talking. Never give that woman a megaphone because her tone of voice was always cracked up to 11. All in all, I had fun with Grams and Crash.

Steve popped into the scene when I was five years old. Mom skipped off to Las Vegas one weekend and didn't bother telling my grandparents. The only way they found out was when they called the restaurant she worked at and her boss told them about her trip with one of her regular customers. When Mom came back home Monday night, she brought Steve home with her, woke me up out of a sound sleep, and introduced him to me as my "new dad."

I hated Steve with a passion. I still do when I think about all the shit he put me through. At first he was an alright guy. He was half my mom's age and could charm the pants off of anyone in the room. With me, he was more like a big brother than a father, wanting to play with me and bringing me candy from the grocery store where he worked. He'd buy food every week for my grandparents and he never asked for any money from them. He was always wanting to hug my mom or kiss her, and help her out with stuff around the apartment. For a while, he insisted Mom scale back on working so much because he could make enough money within the year to get us moved out of the apartment and into an actual house. He even said he wanted to adopt me and give me his last name so that I could really belong to him. Back then, he was an all around good guy.

A year later, he got injured on the job and it was bad enough that could no longer work at the store. He fell down a flight of stairs and busted his back real good where he was almost paralyzed. When he learned he couldn't do the same work anymore, he went from being Mr. Superactive to being Mr. Super Asshole 24/7 with a pension for drinking and smoking weed. Working in the grocery business was all he had ever done and he didn't want to learn another trade. The "fun big brother" guy vanished and was replaced with a man who demanded constant attention from my mom. She'd be dog tired from work but as soon as she walked through the door, he wanted something to eat or for her to hand over the paycheck on paydays. He said he hated depending on a woman to take provide for him, but he wasn't exactly helping out any by not lifting a damn finger unless it was to put a joint or beer can to his lips. The grandfolks weren't happy about his turn around in behavior, but by this time, Crash was needing to stay in bed more because he was getting more tired, and Grams had to watch out over him, so guess who was stuck watching me after school?

Steve would make me get his food from the kitchen and his beer from the fridge. At six years old, I already knew the taste of booze, and because of Steve I learned how to roll a joint because he would be too lazy to do it. Yeah, my step-dad was the first person ever to introduce me to pot. I wouldn't appreciate it until a few years later (OBVIOUSLY) but back then, I thought the stuff smelled real bad, like a skunk when it sprayed you. Also, I didn't wanna do what he told me to do. I wanted to go out and play! Screw staying indoors! I missed running around after school, but Steve was always bellowing at me to stay inside, because he complained about the "cold breeze" that would come from the opening and closing of the door - even during the summer time. One time I tried to leave on my own without telling him, and he actually got up off the couch, grabbed me by the back of my hair, and threw me down to the ground.

"Stay here, you little shit for brains," he growled before walking back to the couch. Heh, like that was gonna stop me. Too bad I found out that even though Steve came off being lazy and high half the time, when he wanted to make his point, he made his point big time. If I didn't listen to him or I talked back to him, he'd smack me around. I got my fair share of black eyes and busted lips, but did that make me wanna obey him more?

Not really. Sometimes I did stuff for him just to get it over with. Other times I would throw a fit so loud that Grams would have to come from next door and take me to her place until Mom came home. Mom saw how I ended up a lot of the times, but she was usually too tired or frustrated from working so much to care. In her eyes, if I didn't have any broken bones, I was fine. Might have had something to do with HER childhood and how she was raised, but I never asked her about it.

Grams tried to convince Mom to get rid of Steve, but she wouldn't. Steve was the only guy who gave her any sort of attention, even if it was the horrible kind (her doing everything, him sponging off of her). Divorce back in the 60s wasn't too common and my mom didn't want to go through another failed relationship (even though her and Dad never had any real sort of relationship to begin with). Mom wasn't blind, but she felt it was better for her sake if she just looked the other way... after she let the entire neighborhood in on her bitching.

Where was Child Protective Services back then? HA HA HA HA! Yeah, no. Things were different back then. What happened in the house stayed in the house. Some kids got tossed around so much to where they just ran away and never came back. It was just how it was. I didn't run away and as miserable as I was, I had other ways of dealing with life.

By ten, I was a wild kid. I didn't want to listen to anybody who tried to tell me what to do. My teachers went through hell trying to get me to settle down. I had my good days and bad days just like anybody, but the stuff that went on at home would build up to where I'd just explode on someone who pushed my buttons. I had one kid, a bigger kid, wanting to pick on me during lunch time because I had a Woody Woodpecker lunch pail. People call them lunch boxes now but back then, they were lunch pails. I thought Woody was funny, so what was this idiot's deal? Some kids would have cried over being picked on. Me? I used my lunch pail to deck him real good, and that gave him a bloody nose. We ended up throwing down on the ground, punching and wrestling until the teachers had to break us apart. This ended up earning me the respect of a lot of my classmates and even some buddies throughout middle school and high school. Even as explosive as I was, I was able to learn and absorb what I was taught by the teachers. Learning was never a problem, it was just wanting to apply myself to doing the work, and I wasn't having much of that back then.

I put Grams through misery when she was watching me. She would tell me to do something and I would just do the opposite, or look right into her face and say, "NO." I got the belt a few times from Crash when he was able to get up out of bed. The guy was usually laid back, but I was able to push his buttons like nobody's business. They didn't deserve my bratty behavior but I wasn't thinking like that back then. One time I took one of Gram's collectible dishes and threw it against the wall, just because I wanted to see it break. It was a week before I could sit down without any pain because Crash cracked that belt against my butt until it was black and blue.

With Steve, who continued being a big time moocher who whined and moaned about everything was enough of a turn on for Mom. At some point they did the horizontal tango and she got pregnant. Right before my eleventh birthday, my half brother, Joey, came into my life.

I loved Joey right from the start. Some of you might be thinking, "Weren't you jealous of a new baby in the family?" Honestly? I wasn't. If anything, I felt like I had to look out for him, like I had this big responsibility to uphold. I didn't ever want to see him get tossed around like I did because of Steve having a stupid fit. Even though we had different dads, Mom said Joey and I looked like we could be full blooded siblings. He had the same blue eyes and same smile as me. His hair was a little darker shade of blond, but even when he got older and grew his hair out more, you never would've guessed we had different dads. Joey brought some magic into the family, because Steve DID take it easy on me for a while. He didn't yell at me as much and I didn't get smacked too often. I even saw him get up off the couch to tend to Joey whenever he was fussing. I would set up my G.I. Joe figures all around Joey's crib when he slept, so they could help me guard him even while I snoozed. If he got upset, Mom would have me hold him as a last resort, because out of everyone, he would calm down as soon as I held him. When he learned to walk, he would follow me around like a puppy. It was funny and it never got obnoxious. He was a Mini Me in the making. What could I say? We clicked the moment we met.

Even with the baby in the family, things settled back to the way it was all before: Steve fell into his lazy moods; Mom was home for a while because of Joey's birth, but all she ever did was yell at Steve, calling him every name in the book, but then went on and made his dinner like he was king of the castle; Grams would watch over Crash but would come get me when Steve got too rough with me, and she would even take Joey with her...

I could go on and on about the screeching matches and the throwing of random household objects, but then again, how about I just lead us into the next chapter where it's the 1970s and I get myself into some REAL action!?

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**Author's note:** Loved it? Hated it? Meh? C&Cs would be very much appreciated. I haven't seen too many people attempt at anything in-depth in terms of Paul's background, so this was my personal take on it. It may not be how you imagined his life would be prior to becoming a vampire but this was fun for me to tackle. Thank you for reading!


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